


Castle in the sky

by Ann_arien



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:04:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann_arien/pseuds/Ann_arien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forced out of Tirion by the ban imposed on his father, Maedhros aches and longs for the love he has left behind.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>I sit and stare at the specs of light reflected by windows, fountains and rooftops, making the castle-in-the-sky wink at me almost mockingly. I like to fancy that Findekáno is leaning against the frame of one such window, high atop one of his fathers defiant towers, gazing north with the same acute need that squeezes my heart in a ruthless fist.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Castle in the sky

If I take one step further, it would be a violation of the Valar’s decree and I would find myself incurring Atar’s wrath, as well. One step over this imaginary boundary and I would break the terms of our exile… _Atar’s_ exile. We took it upon ourselves without question and not once did it enter our minds that twelve long years would stretch into twelve ages, barely dragging along, when one’s heart is left behind.

If I nudge my horse but a little, it would race across the rolling hills and carry me to the white walls I see in the distance, dancing upon the edge of my vision in Laurelin’s searing light. The desire to do it, to give chase and never look back, wells in me and bubbles to the surface in the shape of hot, stinging tears. But, just like the last time I was here, and the time before that, I set my mount free to wander off and graze in whichever direction it pleases. The gentle beast knows nothing of exiles and half-brothers hating each other. Nor does it know of broken hearts and a longing for love so deep that the ache of it never leaves me. I envy the creature that carries me on its back so dutifully for its oblivious, unfettered freedom.

There is no place to shelter myself from Laurelin at its peak here, but I will endure the heat for the chance to squint at the flicker of white walls in the distance. The light shirt I have donned in haste, before storming out of the house this morning, is of better use to me as a blanket now, keeping the short blades of grass from tickling my skin. I kick my riding boots off and lie on my back, looking at the endless, unblemished blue above with eyes that care nothing for its beauty. I long to look upon a different king of beauty…one of gold entwined with dark silk, falling freely over bare shoulders, spilling over curves of rippling muscle I have mapped with my hands until I could reconstruct my lover’s perfection, in metal or stone, from memory alone. I long to lose myself into a deeper blue than that of Manwë’s heavens, where life and love shine brighter than Varda’s stars in the clear skies of the North.

A gentle breeze stirs the heavy air around me and ruffles unruly strands of hair which have escaped my improvised braids. While on horseback, I pulled the hair out of my face, but it was not long before it came loose and now it tickles me, landing on my skin with the whispered retreat of the wind.

I should be tired and hungry, for neither sleep nor appetite have come easy to me these days. Atar is perpetually angry and restless while my brothers seek to silence the hurt of their own hearts by filling both space and time with ceaseless activity and noise. In the middle of all that, Grandfather and I are helpless bystanders, feeling as though caught in the eye of a great storm and moving with it. One step either way and we are tossed to an fro, at the mercy of the tempest. Sometimes, it knocks the air out of my lungs and it hurls me around with too much anger, making me run to this imaginary border that I am doomed not to cross before twelve long years have slowly trickled by.

This spot, this patch of grass I am sitting on right now, is the closest I’ve been to Findekáno in over two years. He has become much like the princesses in Macalaurë’s make-believe tales, trapped inside crystal palaces at the end of the rainbow. Findekáno is a vision to me, holding my heart captive in his castle-in–the-sky. The only foes I must defeat to reach my Prince are the slow passage of time and the doubt that gnaws me from time to time: ”Does Findekáno still love me? Has he forgiven the harsh words which passed between us upon our last, unfortunate meeting? Does he understand that I had no choice but to follow my father in exile? Is our love strong enough to endure the abysmal crack rending our family so helplessly apart?”

I am permanently torn by the love for my father and the love for my cousin, since the day I recognized my feelings for what they were and could no longer feign innocence in Findekáno’s eyes. That he loved me in return was bliss. That our love enraged our fathers and disappointed them to no end has been a curse that we have not escaped. Thus, I am constantly pulled in opposite directions and I imagine Findekáno to be as well. But can I hope that he hasn’t grown too weary of this conflict?

He hasn’t come to Formenos, nor have I met him anywhere else, within the boundaries that the exile confines me and my family to. Many months after our hasty scramble from Tirion, Findekáno was too cross with me to write a single line, for I had accused his father while defending mine, and we fought bitterly, allowing that which we had sworn to avoid to finally come between us. I did not write, for whom could I trust to carry my guilty messages and what was there to say, when all we could do was attempt to survive the blows we had been dealt? I had to be strong and set aside my heartbreak, for Atar’s pain was greater and insanity threatened to take him completely, if left alone to fester in his misery. My brothers looked to me and I could not cry when they needed soothing and guiding. We had to survive the fall and rise from the ashes all the greater, as Atar has taken to saying these days. He surprised me with the strength he has found once more and the fire that Iluvatar has set in him must be great indeed, for I could not have endured losing my mate as he has lost mother. I may have lost Findekáno as it is, but, unlike Atar, hope was not wrenched from me along with my beloved.

When word from Tirion finally arrived, it was addressed to Grandfather and mentioned the rest of us not. I begged that the reply should hold at least a line of greeting and well wishing on my part, but Grandfather did more. He placed upon the shoulders of his most trusted messenger the task to ensure that my letters reached Findekáno alone and that his replies found their way to my hands alone. I may not have kept my wits about otherwise, and would have ended up breaking the decree of the Valar, in my despair to find Findekáno and right the wrongs that keep us divided. Grandfather secretly aided me in establishing correspondence with my lover and showed much sympathy for our plight, when Findekáno confessed that he shares my woes with equal misery and frustration. But then, who better to understand us that Grandfather, when he is, perhaps, the most affected of us all, unable to literally tear himself in two and leave each of his families a side of his heart?

I sit and stare at the specs of light reflected by windows, fountains and rooftops, making the castle-in-the-sky wink at me almost mockingly. I like to fancy that Findekáno is leaning against the frame of one such window, high atop one of his fathers defiant towers, gazing north with the same acute need that squeezes my heart in a ruthless fist.

“Come to me…,” I beg him, my helpless whisper immediately swallowed by the distance between us. “Come to me…just once, just for one day. I only wish to see you. I need something to hold on to. You are free and unrestrained, my love. Come to me and I swear that I will never doubt again…”

My whispers break into silent sobs and here I can cry without shame. If Manwë’s birds, Orome’s beasts and Yavanna’s plants witness my suffering, let them relay the news to their creators and have them lift this curse. If only…

I fall back on my ruined shirt and press my arm over my eyes to stave the painful flow of tears. The darkness behind my eyelids is soothing and I cling to it, matching my breathing to the steady drumming of my heart. Slow and sad it beats and so I inhale and exhale, until oblivion takes me and I fall into deep, numbing sleep.

I am also pulled back to my sense by darkness. Surely I have not slept long, for Laurelin still blazes over the rolling, green hills, making the horizon ripple with white, beloved walls. But upon me falls a shadow that forces my reluctant eyelids apart. A figure hovers above me, face obscured by the glaring light and the curtain of dark hair falling from the figure’s shoulders and nearly touching my bare chest.

For a second, my heart lurches painfully within the confines of my ribcage and I almost squeak: “Findekáno!” My arms reach out for the figure and I curse the light, the dark hair and my gritty, sore eyes, for denying me the sight of my beloved’s face.

Calloused hands grab my arms and haul me to my feet, jerking me forcefully and making me stumble into the arms of this stranger that my sleepy mind can’t seem to get around.

“Nelyo…!” the figure whispers hoarsely and I am shocked to find myself clutching the front of my father’s tunic, wishing for all the world that I would be held so brutally tight by someone else.

“Come home, Nelyo,” Atar pleads pitifully, belying the fierce possessiveness of his hold on me. I can hardly draw enough air to keep form suffocating, but such air that reaches my lungs burns with Atar’s raw energy, crackling in tiny sparks before my eyes.

“Come home,” he begs again, and I wrap my arms around him as well, mumbling reassurance in his ear. I will go home, of course, I will. What else can I do? I will not forsake Atar, who’s fear of it must have driven him after me today. It hurts to think that he harbors such irrational fears, but I understand him all too well.

I cast one last, lingering look at the castle-in-the-sky, praying that my love awaits me safely within the pristine walls. A moment later, Atar ushers me to our horses and reality falls back into place over my wishful thinking.


End file.
